


Life with Franklin

by Jenksel



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dragon!Dad Jenkins, Dragon!Mom Cassandra, Dragons, Fluff, Light Angst, Multi, Pets, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-04-19 19:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14243787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenksel/pseuds/Jenksel
Summary: The team adopts a new member.  Or, more accurately, HE adopts THEM!Franklin's back, and he has his own multi-chapter fic!  This will be similar to "The Casskins Pillow Book" in structure and updates, except that the focus will be on Franklin and his relationships and adventures with the team.





	1. The Knight, the Lady and the Dragon

Franklin was still a very young tea dragon, barely out of infancy when he was torn from his close-knit family in China.  He’d been accidentally trapped in the crate of top-grade cakes of pu-erh tea he had been snacking on in a tea merchant’s warehouse, then shipped to America.  The little reptile was heartbroken and terrified when he eventually found himself in a strange place half a world away, with no family in sight anywhere.  In fact, there were no other dragons at all in sight, _anywhere_.

And then, as if things weren’t bad enough, just as he was working to adapt to his new environment he’d been caught in that awful trap!  An older, more experienced dragon would’ve recognized and avoided it, but Franklin was young and simply so inquisitive by nature that he couldn’t resist investigating the contraption.  When the humans found him hours later, he cowered in fright in a corner of the mesh cage, convinced that he would soon be joining his ancestors, especially when the largest and oldest of them—obviously the patriarch—tentatively approached the cage.  Franklin had been taught since the day he was hatched that humans were to be avoided.  They could be capricious and cruel, and often killed other living creatures on sight, sometimes even just for sport.

But the big human had only carefully poked a finger into the cage to lightly scratch the animal’s head.  Franklin sensed at once that he was really very kind and gentle, despite his horrific size, that he was old and wise, much like Franklin’s real father.  The frightened young dragon trusted this human and immediately bonded with the elder, adopting him as his new father in this strange place.

 Franklin soon discovered that the large male was mated to the smaller of the two females, and that made him happy.  Tea dragon families were always very large, with dozens of siblings and aunties and uncles and cousins.  The mated pair of humans meant that he now had a whole new family, if a little on the small size; he merely assumed that the other humans in this place were the mated pair’s offspring and, therefore, his new brothers and sister.

The feelings were apparently mutual.  The patriarch quickly freed Franklin from the cage; the dragon felt the large man’s affection and happiness at once, and the two quickly became thick as thieves.  The patriarch was always gentle when handling Franklin, let him sit and ride on his huge shoulder as he moved about and worked, and gave him the most wonderful belly rubs and chin scratches.  He made sure Franklin had plenty of good tea to eat and drink, and even some treats that Franklin had never tasted before; his favorite were the small white cubes of pure sweetness that the patriarch sometimes put in his own tea when he drank it.  He also gave Franklin almost completely free run of the place where they lived, and the little reptile spent hours upon hours excitedly exploring all of its mysterious nooks and crannies.

Despite the language barrier, he soon recognized that the word ‘Franklin’ was the name they had given him.  His real name was actually Yù Yè, which meant ‘Jade Leaf’ (all tea dragon names were related to tea and the environment in which it grew), but no matter how many times he tried to correct them, they just didn’t seem to understand him.  Not yet understanding their human names, Franklin decided to give his adopted ‘parents’ proper tea dragon names.  He decided to call the large male Bái Shān, which meant ‘White Mountain’, due to his pale coloring and massive size, and the smaller female he called Chá Huā, or ‘Tea Flower’, due to the fact that she always smelled sweet, like tea blossoms.

On one particular evening, the serpentine creature slipped unnoticed into a dark room and quickly climbed a bedpost.  Once he reached the top, he scurried along the top edge of the massive walnut headboard until he was squarely overlooking the pair of humans below.  Franklin crouched comfortably on the narrow ledge, craning his neck out and cocking his head curiously as he watched them.  Ever since he adopted them as his new parents, the tea dragon had been fascinated by the behaviors of the patriarch and his mate, and took every opportunity he could to observe and learn more about them.

They were now engaged in a strange behavior that Franklin had never seen before—Bái Shān was on top of Chá Huā, eagerly licking and nipping her.  Franklin adjusted his position, his slightly bulging black eyes blinking with interest as he watched closely.

Chá Huā was making sharp cries and moaning sounds, as if in pain, but they didn’t seem to be distress calls, exactly.  This puzzled Franklin.  He had come close to being attacked and eaten many times by predators when he lived in the tea fields of Yunnan Province, and he _never_ failed to make distress calls to summon help.  Perhaps Bái Shān wasn’t going to eat her after all, perhaps this was some sort of play for them.

The large male moved down the female’s body to her legs.  She parted them, and Bái Shān began to lick her and bite her, causing her to cry out loudly and thrash about as if she was trying to escape—clearly, Bái Shān _was_ preparing to devour her, though the small dragon was confused as to why he should do that.  They were a mated pair, after all, and had always seemed very fond of one another up until now.  They were never very far away from each other, and they were always touching each other with their mouths—apparently that was how humans displayed affection.  Or perhaps they had only really been tasting each other?  But why should he want to kill and eat his mate?  Dragons mated for life and would _never_ do that, but perhaps humans only mated temporarily before one was eaten by the other.  The thought was very disturbing to Franklin.  He loved both of his new parents, and didn’t want either of them to be killed or devoured.

Suddenly Bái Shān sat up, pulling Chá Huā upright with him.  He turned her around so that she was on all fours, pulled her bottom upward and then quickly mounted her, softly grunting beast-like as he began to thrust against her.  _Now_ the little dragon understood what was going on:  His parents were mating!  Franklin was overjoyed; soon Chá Huā would lay an egg, and not long after that Franklin would have a new sibling!

Franklin was so excited by the prospect of a new family member that he couldn’t contain himself.  He began to happily wriggle and hop on the headboard as he raised his head and made a loud, shrill squealing sound that filled the large room.  At that same moment he lost his footing on the narrow lip of walnut and fell off, landing squarely Chá Huā’s back, right between her shoulder blades.

“ _JENKINS_!” she shrieked as she reared up onto her knees, her hands clawing frantically behind her to dislodge whatever it was that had fallen on her.  Franklin quickly leaped from her shoulders and back onto the top of the headboard, while the immortal disengaged himself from his wife so quickly in alarm that he nearly lost his balance and fell off the foot of the bed.

“ _CASSANDRA_!?” he shouted, his heart skipping a beat, afraid that he had somehow accidentally hurt her in his ardor.  Even in the dim light he could see the fury on her face and her eyes flashing as she looked around at him and jammed a finger upward.  The man looked to where she was pointing, then smothered a laugh as an amused look came to his face.

“Franklin!” he said, tone chiding.  “What do you think you’re doing up there?”  Franklin’s head bobbed up and down as he made a trilling sound in happy greeting.  The Caretaker reached up and gently stroked the side of the tea dragon’s long neck as Cassandra huffed loudly in frustration.

“Jenkins, I know you’re really fond of him and everything, and normally he’s _super_ -cute, but he just _can’t_ be in here while we’re having sex!” she declared irately.  Jenkins chuckled in response.

“He’s only curious, my dear,” he said.  “He didn’t mean any harm, did you, Franklin?”  The tiny dragon began making a soft purring sound and rubbing his head against the man’s hand.

“That may be, but I _still_ don’t care to have an audience, if it’s all the same to you!” Cassandra replied sourly.  “Either _he’s_ banned from the bedroom during sexy time, or we’re _never_ having sexy time again!”

 _That_ got his attention.  Jenkins turned to his fuming wife and bent to give her an ameliorating kiss.

“Fear not, my lady,” he rumbled dramatically, then straightened up on his knees and puffed out his chest heroically.  “I shall do my knightly duty and dispatch the wicked dragon that plagues you so!”  He rolled out of bed and turned on the lamp, then slipped into his robe.  He went around to Cassandra’s side of the bed where Franklin was now perched.  Along the way he grabbed an old-fashioned fountain pen from his nightstand and pointed it like a sword at the iridescent green dragon.

“Foul beast!” Jenkins said loudly, glaring threateningly at the beast in question.  “I command you to vacate this kingdom at once, or you shall taste my steel!”  Franklin yipped gleefully as he playfully batted at and tried to chew on the end of the fountain pen.

“He doesn’t seem to be very frightened by you, Sir Knight!” Cassandra giggled, despite her irritation with Franklin.  Jenkins sniffed haughtily.

“Nonsense!  He simply knows better than to challenge a highly experienced dragon-slayer such as myself.”  The knight laid the pen on Cassandra’s nightstand, then reached out to pluck the uncowed dragon from the headboard.  As soon as his hand came near, Franklin leaped onto his long arm and scampered up to his shoulder, then tried to insert his snout into Jenkins’s ear.  The Caretaker laughed at the tickling sensation of the creature’s breath in his ear and of the long whiskers on his cheek.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment, my lady,” he said gallantly, bending over to give her a sloppy kiss.  “I shall banish this interloper to the workroom.  And then,” he dropped his voice to a murmur and gave her a salacious look, “when I return, I shall resume giving _you_ a taste of my ‘steel’!”

“Oh, my!” exclaimed Cassandra melodramatically, barely able to keep from laughing as she raised a hand to her forehead in mock-distress.  “Is that a threat, Sir Knight?”  He raised his head proudly and peered down his nose at her.

“That, my love, is a _promise_!”


	2. Hither and Yon

“Hey, J—quick question,” Jacob Stone said in a gravelly voice as he and a snickering Ezekiel Jones came to stand in front of the Caretaker’s desk.  Jenkins sighed heavily at the interruption and raised his head, glaring impatiently at the younger men.

“Yes, Mr. Stone?” he asked, his tone irritated.  These Librarians were _forever_ plaguing him with their ‘quick questions’, which usually turned out to be neither quick nor even questions most of the time.

“I know it ain’t none of our business what you and Cassie do after hours, especially since ya’ll actually live here and everything,” the historian began, sniggering as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.  “But, uh…ya might want to consider pickin’ up after yourselves when you’re, uh…ya know…’done’?”  He dropped his gaze and coughed, his hand rubbing his nose as he tried to suppress a grin and Jones elbowed him conspiratorially.  Jenkins simply stared blankly at him.

“My apologies, Mr. Stone, but I’m afraid I don’t speak ‘cryptic’, so I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he finally said.  “Perhaps if you were to speak _English_ , I might have a better chance of actually understanding you?”  Jacob sniggered and rubbed the back of his head.

“Well, uh…ya see, me and Jones, we were in the stacks this morning, and we, uh…found somethin’,” he said.  Jenkins continued to stare uncomprehendingly at the pair, so Ezekiel reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out an emerald-green scrap of lacy satin.  He laid it with a dramatic flourish on the desk in front of the wide-eyed immortal.

Jenkins fumbled and nearly dropped the quill he was using as he looked up at Jacob and Ezekiel, the irritation in his brown eyes now replaced by round-eyed embarrassment, much to the two Librarians’ delight.  The immortal immediately recognized the item as a pair of women’s panties—the sort that Cassandra owned.  But how they ended up in the stacks was an utter mystery to him.

“Mr. Stone, Mr. Jones—I assure you that I do not know how this... _garment_...found its way into the stacks,” he protested vehemently.  “But I know what you’re thinking, and despite what you may believe, Cassandra and I are not a pair of silly, hormonal teen-agers—we don’t just…’assault’ each other wherever we happen to be when the mood strikes us!”  Jacob, immensely enjoying the blustering man’s discomfiture, stifled a guffaw behind his hand, pretending to rub his chin.  Ezekiel didn’t even try to hide his laughter.

“Come on, Jenkins, really?” the Australian challenged the older man, totally unimpressed by the Caretaker’s denial.  “You’re gonna honestly sit there and tell us that you and Cassandra have _never_ done any…’in depth research’ in the Biology section?”  The young thief bumped his fist with Stone’s at the joke.  

Jenkins sprang from his stool and pulled himself up to his full imposing height, dark eyes blazing.  The two young Librarians automatically backed a couple of steps away from the irate man, each of them pasting a suitably chastened look onto their faces.

“Certainly not!” thundered Jenkins indignantly.  “Cassandra is a _lady_ , and as a knight and a gentleman I treat her as such!”  Ezekiel smirked knowingly and poked Jake in the ribs.

“Methinks the Caretaker doth protest too much!” the thief quipped with mock seriousness.    A huge fist slammed onto the desktop, causing all but the heaviest items to jump.  The Librarians jumped also.

“Tread carefully, Mr. Jones!” Jenkins said, his voice low and dangerous.  “If my wife and I wish to be ‘intimate’, we retire to the privacy of our quarters, like civilized human beings!  We do not simply ‘rut’ hither and yon like beasts!  And if I _ever_ hear you suggesting otherwise again…”  He let the threat go unspoken.  He also fervently prayed to all the gods that these two  _never_ found out about all of the times that he and Cassandra _had_ actually been intimate ‘hither and yon’.  In fact, they _had_ trysted throughout the Library and the Annex.  Just last week they’d had a _very_ memorable assignation in the Lepidopterarium.   If the others discovered the truth, Jenkins knew he and Cassandra would _never_ hear the end of it.

Jake held his hands up in surrender and gave the angry man a little bow.  “Okay, J, we got it, we got it—sorry!  Didn’t mean to insult the honor of your lady fair!”  Jenkins, slightly mollified, picked up the panties and quickly slipped them into the pocket of his suit coat.

“Yes, well, thank you, Mr. Stone, Mr. Jones,” he said, pulling the sleeves of his coat down.  “In the meantime, I’m sure there’s some rational explanation for how Cassandra’s… ’unmentionables’ ended up in the stacks.”  He sat down again and picked up his quill to resume his work, silently dismissing the Librarians.  Jacob nearly choked on his laughter as he lightly hit Jones on the shoulder and backed away from the high desk.  The smirking pair then turned and ran from the workroom, both of them bursting into raucous laughter.

Jenkins tried to return his attention back to his work after the two Librarians left, but all he could think of was the scanty undergarment in his pocket.  How _did_ Cassandra’s panties find their way into the Library?  He racked his brain trying to remember if the two of them had trysted in the stacks recently, but he came up blank.  Perhaps the panties had been left from a long-previous encounter, and they had simply gone unmissed and undiscovered until now?  Yes, that _had_ to be the answer, it made perfect sense.  There were numerous instances of something amorous beginning in the stacks but ending somewhere else.  Jenkins took a deep breath.  He and Cassandra would have to be _much_ more careful in the future…

A flash of red in his peripheral vision and an energetic squeal caught the Caretaker’s attention, and he quickly looked up.  His jaw dropped as he beheld Franklin, the tea dragon, enthusiastically flinging one of Cassandra’s bras into the air and then playfully leaping after it to try and catch it in his jaws.  The small, shimmering green dragon emitted another high-pitched squeal of delight as he chased and played with the bra, seizing it and shaking it like a dog with a rat whenever he caught it.  Jenkins jumped up from his seat and hurried over to the miscreant, and grabbed one end the bra.

“SO!” he said sternly.  “ _You’re_ the one with the underwear fetish!”  He tried to snatch the bra away from the little reptile, but Franklin only clamped his jaws more tightly onto the garment, thinking that Jenkins was joining in his game.  The two were soon engaged in a tug-of-war over the bra.

“Franklin!  Let go of that _this instant_!” the Caretaker growled through clenched teeth.  The dragon’s eyes glittered happily as he sat back on his haunches and stiffened his front legs, like a stubborn donkey.  He wrapped his long tail tightly around a nearby table leg for good measure as he refused to let go of the bra or be budged from his place, his needle-sharp teeth beginning to tear holes in the delicate fabric.  In frustration, Jenkins finally gave one last hard yank, and the bra’s thin cloth gave way with a dull ripping sound.  Jenkins staggered upright with the bra, now missing a large chunk out of one of the cups, dangling in his hand.  He looked up at Franklin just in time to see the rambunctious creature scurry off into a corridor, a scrap of red clamped between his teeth.

His shoulders slumped in exasperation, Jenkins watched as the tail of the small dragon disappeared into the dimly-lit hallway, the sound of his claws clicking against the wooden flooring quickly fading into the distance.  He looked down at the ruined bra in his hands; Cassandra was going to be furious when he explained to her what had happened to it.  She was certainly as fond of Franklin as he was, but she had far less patience with some of the tea dragon’s more high-spirited behavior.  For a moment he thought about simply disposing of the bra and not saying anything, but he quickly rejected that idea.  He needed to be honest with her, no matter the consequences.  At least he had her panties safely tucked into his pocket; perhaps that would count in his favor for something.  Taking a deep breath, he squared his broad shoulders and went in search of his wife.

He found her at her work station in the lab, perusing one of Merlin’s lesser-known spellbooks.  Bracing himself, he handed her the torn brassiere and explained what had happened to it.  As expected, Cassandra was not pleased in the least to have lost such an expensive article of clothing to the boisterous tea dragon.

“Jenkins, that thing is getting to be a menace!” she fumed as she examined the ruined bra.  “I know you love him and that you’re really attached to him, and I love him, too.  But you’ve _got_ to teach him what’s allowed and what’s not, you’ve _got_ to discipline him, otherwise…”  She flung her hands into the air in frustration.  The immortal nodded in agreement.

“You’re absolutely right, my dear, I _have_ let Franklin become rather unruly, haven’t I?” he admitted, carefully fixing a hangdog look onto his face.  “I guess I’m not very experienced at—what did you call it?—‘pet parenting’, am I?”  Cassandra felt a twinge of guilt upon seeing her husband’s sad, shamefaced expression, and she went over to the repentant man to slip her arms around his waist.

“It’s okay.  I’m sorry, sweetie, I don’t mean to be so grumpy,” she said, standing on tip-toe to plant a small kiss on his cheek.  “He _does_ need discipline, but I guess I can help with that by making sure he can’t get into my laundry hamper or my dressing room from now on.”  Having won her forgiveness, Jenkins gave her a dazzling smile, then remembered the panties.  He pulled them out of his pocket and held them out to his wife.

“I _did_ manage to save these, though!” he fibbed brightly.  Cassandra looked at the panties and frowned, her smooth brow wrinkling in confusion.

“Um…those aren’t mine,” she said, looking up into her husband’s dark eyes.  A perplexed look crossed his face.

“Are you sure?” he asked.  The Librarian nodded vigorously.

“But Mr.—er, I mean—since _Franklin_ had your brassiere, I just assumed that he had carried these off into the stacks as well; if they aren’t yours, who could they belong to, then?” he asked.  The answer came to both of them at the same time.

“ _EVE_?!” they said together, looking at each other with startled, wide eyes.  Jenkins dropped the panties onto the lab table as though they were hot and unconsciously wiped his hand quickly against the leg of his trousers.

“I believe I’ll let _you_ return them to Colonel Baird!” he said hurriedly, but Cassandra shook her head, her russet curls bouncing wildly.

“Uh-uh!  Not me!” she said.  She picked the panties up with a pencil and dropped them into a nearby wastepaper basket.  “There!  Out of sight, out of mind!  I’ve now officially _never_ seen those in my life, and therefore I don’t have any horrible mental images of how they ended up in the stacks!”  Jenkins laughed as he picked up on her intent.

“And I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, my love!” he said breezily, giving her a tight hug.  He meant to also give her only a quick peck on the lips, but instead somehow found himself giving her a tender, lingering kiss.  He gently took the remnants of the bra from her hand and dropped them on the nearby table, his face taking on a look of longing.

“Perhaps you’ll allow me to recompense you for Franklin’s mischief in some way...?” he murmured suggestively, lifting his pretty wife onto the tabletop, then  slipping his hands into her hair as he bent down to give the smiling Cassandra another kiss, this one full of passion and hunger...

 


	3. The World's Greatest Thief

Barely moving his head, Jenkins peered over the top of his horn-rimmed glasses.  Ezekiel Jones sat across the workroom in a tilted-back chair, feet lackadaisically propped up on his desk, his dark eyes glued to his phone. 

As his eyes narrowed in satisfaction, a tiny, lopsided smile came to the immortal’s lips.  He slowly leaned back on his stool a couple of inches, just enough to allow him to see the small tea dark green dragon hunched on the floor next to the leg of his high oak desk.  Franklin looked up expectantly, his hindquarters wiggling in anticipation and with barely-controlled excitement.  The Caretaker surreptitiously made a sign with his hand, and instantly the little dragon shot across the floor like an arrow toward the unsuspecting Australian. 

Over the last couple of weeks, Bái Shān had been working slowly and patiently with Franklin, teaching him this new trick.  Being a highly intelligent creature, it hadn’t taken Franklin very long to learn the trick, plus he was motivated by his desire to please his new father.   Bái Shān was always very lavish with his praise, not to mention the sweet white cubes he gave to Franklin whenever he did the trick correctly. 

Now they were going to do the trick with Fēng, the tea dragon name Franklin had given to Ezekiel.  The name meant ‘Wind’, and the dragon had chosen it after observing how easily and quietly the thief moved about the Library and Annex, often unseen or unheard by the others, just like a soft spring breeze whispering through the tea fields.  But he had also observed instances of how Jones could be a powerful, unstoppable force, like a strong gale.  Franklin had observed, too, that Fēng was something of a trickster; he was continually stealing things from the others without them knowing it, just like a magpie.  If he liked such tricks, then Fēng should certainly enjoy this trick that Bái Shān had taught the tea dragon.

As soon as he was close enough, Franklin leaped onto Fēng’s lap with a high-pitched cry, startling the Librarian and causing him to lose his balance in the tipped-back chair and fall all the way over onto the floor.  Franklin sank his claws into the heavy denim fabric of Fēng’s black jeans and held on tightly as the young man first shouted, then thrashed and flailed about in surprised panic before wildly scrambling to his feet.  Fēng looked down and into the eyes of Franklin, Fēng’s own eyes suddenly flashing in irritation and embarrassment.  Franklin merely grinned up at him, which the human interpreted as a snarl.

“Oy!  Get off me, you little bugger!” yelled Jones as he danced around and swatted at the tea dragon climbing over the front of his jeans.  The wiry animal deftly avoided the blows and dived head-first into Jones’s front pocket, his tiny claws firmly gripping the denim as the young Australian tried to pull him off.

“ _Jenkins_!” he called out to the large man calmly reading a fat book across the room at his high desk.  “Jenkins!  Get your mangy dragon off of me or I’m gonna wring its neck!”  Jones finally managed to pull the dragon’s head out of his pocket—a second, disposable cell phone clamped tightly in his jaws—but Franklin still refused to release his hold on Ezekiel’s leg.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mr. Jones,” replied the Caretaker in a bored tone without even looking up from his book.  “I would be obliged to report you to the ASPCMA.” 

“The ASP-whatsits?” Ezekiel demanded impatiently, still tugging on the dragon.

“The American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Magical Animals,” Jenkins clarified.  “And I assure you that they take a _very_ dim view of cruelty of any kind perpetrated against magical animals.  Considering how rare tea dragons are to begin with, if you were to wring Franklin’s neck I’m afraid you would be subject to the most severe penalties the Society could impose.”  He turned the page of his book and continued to read.

“Oh, _really_?” snapped Jones sarcastically, still pulling at the burr-like reptile gripping his leg.  “And what penalties exactly would those be?”  He managed to dislodge one of Franklin’s feet from his jeans, the creature squealing shrilly in protest the entire time.

“Well, let’s just say that the men responsible for the extinction of the dodo bird in the wild met with very… _unpleasant_ ends.”  The tall man’s frame visibly shivered at the thought.  “Of course, the American branch of the Society didn’t exist then, so it was the _European_ branch that actually imposed and carried out the sentences...”  Ezekiel cast a quick, doubtful look at the older man.

“Dodo birds?” he asked skeptically.  “ _Dodo birds_ were magical animals?”  Jenkins finally looked up from his book, giving the thief a disbelieving glare.

“ _Heavens_ , yes!” he exclaimed sharply.  “And thank goodness the Library was able to acquire several breeding pairs before they went extinct in the wild, otherwise the polar ice caps would’ve completely melted hundreds of years ago, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation today!”

“Yeah, what a loss _that_ would’ve been,” Jones muttered under his breath as gave one final hard pull, and Franklin was dislodged at last.  Besides the prepaid cell phone in his jaws, he also now had Jones’s apartment key clutched in one small claw. 

“Hey!  You little thief, gimme those back!”  Jones snatched the key from the dragon.  After a brief tug of war, Ezekiel managed to pull the phone from the dragon’s mouth, then dropped Franklin onto the wooden floor of the workroom.  “Go on!  Get out of here!” he yelled irritably, lightly stomping one foot to frighten the dragon off.  The little animal scampered across the floor to Jenkins’s desk, quickly shimmied up one of its legs and onto the desktop.  Knowing that he was now perfectly safe with Bái Shān right there with him, Franklin turned to face Fēng and give him a series of short, low-pitched hoots, the tea dragon version of a raspberry.

“It’s not even a _decent_ thief!” muttered the younger man.  He sourly eyed the little beast, a gnawing suspicion coming to his gut that he was being ridiculed by the animal as he shoved the apartment key and the phone back into his pocket.  He turned the chair upright again and shoved it testily back under the desk he had been sitting at.  With one final glare at the Caretaker and the hooting tea dragon, he then turned to stalk from the workroom, still muttering threats to dragons, magical animals or not, under his breath.

Franklin moved to sit on his haunches in front of Bái Shān and watched him expectantly, his long tail whipping to and fro eagerly and dislodging several small items from the Caretaker’s desk.  At another hand signal from the big human, he then lowered his head and disgorged from a special, craw-like storage pouch in his long neck Ezekiel Jones’s solid gold money clip, containing a rather large collection of twenty-dollar bills.  As he looked up at the Caretaker with glittering, hopeful eyes, Bái Shān smiled with satisfaction and picked up a cube of sugar from his tea saucer.  He gave it to the eagerly waiting dragon, and as Franklin greedily munched on his prize, the immortal picked up the slightly damp clip of bills and dropped it into a drawer of his desk.  Chuckling, he gently rolled Franklin over onto his back and began to give the dragon a good belly scratching.

“ _There’s_ my clever fellow!” he rumbled affectionately to the madly wriggling creature.  “You carried that out to perfection!”  He stopped scratching Franklin’s belly, and the tea dragon immediately rolled back onto his feet, whimpering for more.  Unable to deny his beloved little friend, Jenkins began scratching behind Franklin’s ears, causing him to whine softly with happiness. 

“Now, then,” Jenkins said to the dragon, looking quickly at his watch to note the time.  “Let’s see just how long it takes the world’s greatest thief to realize that he’s been pick-pocketed by a mangy dragon who’s not even adequate at the art of larceny, shall we?”


	4. Tea Time

Jenkins walked as quietly as he could down the hallway from the workroom to the Annex kitchen.  He carefully opened the door, slipped quickly inside, then eased it closed again.  He went to the china cupboard and took out a heavy ceramic bowl, carried it over to the countertop and silently set it down.   

He next went to the tea pantry and gingerly opened that door.  He stood in front of the shelves for a moment, studying his choices.  He settled on a tin of Assam, and plucked the large metal box from between the neighboring containers of tea.  Cautiously he closed the pantry door, gritting his teeth at the faint creaking in one of the hinges, then slowly carried the tea over to the countertop.  Grasping the tin and its tightly fitting lid with both hands, the Caretaker very carefully attempted to pull the lid off.  Just as it separated from the tin the lid slipped from his large fingers and, to his horror, bounced over the edge of the countertop and onto the tiled kitchen floor with a deafening clatter.  Jenkins instantly froze in place and held his breath, eyes wide, his sharp soldier’s ears straining for the slightest sound.

A few seconds later the old knight closed his eyes and dropped his shoulders as he heard it:  The dreadful skittering of tiny claws rushing over hardwood flooring, growing louder with each passing moment.  He winced as he heard the sound of a small reptilian body skid along the hallway floor and then thud against the kitchen door, dropped his white head in defeat as he heard the soft, whining grunts and scrabbling of claws as Franklin the tea dragon squeezed himself underneath the door.  The little beast had heard the lid crash to the kitchen floor fro, all the way up on the second floor of the Annex where he’d been napping; that sound meant only one thing to Franklin.

Dinnertime!

Resigned to his fate, the immortal began to pour some of the tea leaves into the bowl.  In the blink of an eye, Franklin was at his feet, jumping up and down and crying loudly for his dinner.  He jumped up behind Jenkins and latched onto the man’s coattails.  He climbed up his back and then wrapped his strong, sinuous tail too snugly around the immortal’s throat, using it as an anchor while the dragon stretched his greedy forepaws out toward the bowl of tea. 

“ _Dammit_ , Franklin!” Jenkins muttered as he patiently unwound the wildly squirming reptile from around his neck.  “One would think we never feed you from the way you carry on so!”  He again dropped the dragon onto the kitchen floor.

No sooner had his feet touched the ground than Franklin leaped up onto the tall man’s shin, sinking his claws into the thin wool fabric of his trousers and began to clamber up the man’s leg.  Without another word or even looking, Jenkins reached down to pull the dragon off of him, again dropping the loudly protesting creature onto the floor in one smooth, practiced move.  He repeated the action several more times as he struggled to measure out and add some nutrition supplements to the tea dragon’s food, his ears no longer even hearing the plaintive, skull-piercing wailing of the hungry dragon. 

Once the food was ready, Jenkins turned and began the arduous trek across the kitchen to the large plastic mat that marked the animal’s designated feeding place.  The Caretaker had to watch every move he made, lest he accidentally step on or trip over the frantic, clingy dragon.  Franklin wove in and out between the man’s legs, pawing at his trousers, still crying incessantly.  The immortal had almost reached his goal when Franklin suddenly darted between his ankles just as he was taking a step, the little tea dragon squawking in alarm as he was caught between Jenkins’s large feet.  Yelping loudly in in surprise and fear that he had injured the animal, Jenkins stumbled and lost his balance, toppling over onto the floor face-first like a falling tree, his long, wind-milling arms scattering dried tea leaves and supplements all over the kitchen floor.  The bowl flew from his hand and landed hard against the breakfast table, shattering.

Jenkins rolled over onto his back and simply laid there, a huge sigh of capitulation escaping him.  Franklin began rushing all over the kitchen in a frenzy, greedily gobbling up the scattered tea leaves as fast as he could, fearful that some other creature could come along and steal it from him. 

A few seconds later the door swung open and Cassandra Jenkins burst into the room. 

“Jenkins!  Are you okay?  I heard something breaking and you yelling and...”  The young woman stopped in her tracks and stared around the kitchen, taking in the sight of her prone husband on the floor, gazing vacantly up at the ceiling, while the little green tea dragon rummaged crazily all over the tiled floor, his long tongue whipping out to lap up the dried tea strewn about as fast as he could.  The Librarian burst into laughter.

“I’m so pleased that _you_ think this is funny,” groused Jenkins sourly.  Cassandra went over to him and knelt on the floor above his head.

“Poor baby!” she cooed, bending over to kiss his forehead.  “How many times does this make now?  Twenty-five?  Thirty?” 

“I’ve lost count.”

“He’s still young, sweetheart,” she said, trying to smooth his ruffled feathers.  “He’ll calm down as he gets older, all animals do.”  Jenkins only snorted in response.

“I used to be _so good_ with animals,” he sighed melodramatically.  As if to underscore his words, Franklin bounded happily toward Cassandra, trilling a greeting as he used the immortal’s stomach as a springboard to launch himself into her arms. 

“ _OOF!_   Franklin!” Jenkins yelled irritably.  The tea dragon paid no attention; he was too busy licking Cassandra’s laughing face and grunting delightedly.  She let Franklin have his way for a few minutes, then pulled him off of her and plunked the wriggling creature down onto her husband’s chest.

“Here, you hold onto him,” she instructed.  “And I’ll get a broom and sweep up the rest of this tea mess.  Then I’ll make you and me a nice, soothing cup of rosehip tea; how does that sound?”  She suddenly had the immortal’s attention, though he feigned disinterest.

“I suppose,” he said in a studiously bored tone.  “Perhaps we could have some of those snickerdoodles—or whatever nonsense they’re called—that you baked yesterday with our tea as well?” he added, as though it were an afterthought.

Cassandra had to turn away from him and press her lips together to keep from laughing at the irony.  All the time she was baking those cookies yesterday, she constantly had to shoo Jenkins away to keep him from eating all of the raw cookie dough straight from the mixing bowl.  He next begged her to let him lick the mixing bowl and spoon, then she had to fight to keep him from stealing and wolfing down all of the cookies as soon they came out of the oven.  It had been like trying to bake with a 1,500 year old preschooler!

She looked down at her husband still laying on the floor, now roughhousing with and patting the little dragon, the man’s dark eyes betraying his affection for the creature.  His belly now full of tea, Franklin yawned loudly, then curled up on his adopted human’s chest, laying his head against Jenkins’s neck.  The dragon’s eyes were half-closed as sleep loomed over him.  Cassandra couldn’t help but smile at the sight; they might be completely different species, but they were still two peas in a pod sometimes.

“Of course we can have some cookies,” she said, going to the broom closet to fetch a broom and the dustpan.  As she began to sweep, she overheard Jenkins whispering conspiratorially to Franklin.

“Did you hear that, Franklin?  Cookies!”

 


	5. Trouble

The Caretaker stepped through the doors and entered the Library proper, starting down the marble steps as he perused a shipping manifest of items being sent to him from a dear friend of his in Kathmandu who was also an antiquities dealer. As he reached the bottom of the steps, the tall man was startled by the echoing sounds of shattering glass, a high-pitched shriek and frantic barking.

Dropping the stack of papers onto a reading table, Jenkins rushed toward the source of the sounds. About forty feet along the main aisle he came to an intersecting aisle. Just to his left the floor was covered in thousands of pieces of broken safety glass from an overturned display case. Peppering the clear shards that littered the floor were the remains of a priceless collection of ancient Sumerian clay cuneiform tablets—the Inanna Collection—many of them now shattered into tiny pieces with the glass.

His face registering a mixture of horror and nausea at the damage, the immortal slowly looked up to see who was responsible for this outrage. His dark eyes immediately beheld the two culprits: One small, iridescent-green tea dragon and one gleaming, double-edged longsword. Stretched between the two was one of Jenkins's long neck-ties. One silken end was still clamped between Franklin's teeth, the other end wrapped around the sword's hilt. The middle of it was partially wrapped around one leg of the destroyed display case—the unfortunate casualty of their fierce game of tug of war.

"Franklin? Excalibur?" he gasped as he stared at the offenders in complete disbelief. Franklin and Excalibur turned to stare at each other for a moment. Both turned to stare at the increasingly irate Caretaker. The pair turned to look at each other again.

Franklin suddenly dropped his end of the tie and turned to run as fast as his legs would carry him, squealing like a piglet as he disappeared into the stacks. At the same moment, Excalibur let loose his end of the ruined tie and flew off in the opposite direction like a shot, yipping hysterically as he disappeared around a corner and into Medieval Wing.

 _"FRANKLIN! EXCALIBUR!"_ thundered Jenkins after the fleeing malefactors. Unable to decide in his fury which of the miscreants to chase after first, he ended up frozen impotently in place, eyes blazing and fists clenched in fury.

Realizing that he was far too angry right now to deal rationally with this situation or anyone involved in it at the moment, the immortal closed his eyes and forced himself to slow down his breathing. He counted his breaths deliberately, unhurriedly, until he reached ten—inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. _Push out the jive, bring in the love,_ he chanted, whispering as he extended his arms on the exhale and then drew them in slowly as he inhaled. He called to mind a pleasant, soothing scene: His beloved Cassandra, her long red hair curling softly over her shoulders, wearing a pair of butter-soft, thigh-high boots of pale ivory leather—and not a stitch of anything else. She was laying on their bed, a sweet, alluring smile on her face as her sky-blue eyes longingly beckoned him...

A foolish grin spread across his face as his anger dissipated.

When he was ready, he opened his eyes and surveyed the damage again. He shook his white head slowly at the mess as he picked up what was left of his neck-tie. Jenkins took a final, deep cleansing breath and exhaled, squared his shoulders and resolutely lifted his head. If ever there was a situation that called for the use of restoration magic, this must certainly be it, he decided. And of course Franklin and Excalibur would have to be dealt with as well.

 _But not until I've had a cup of tea and made some plans for tonight with Cassandra_ , he said to himself, turning to head back to the Annex.


	6. Solarium

Cassandra couldn’t find Jenkins _anywhere_.  He’d disappeared right after lunch, telling her that he had to go look up some books he needed for research he was doing.  That was three hours ago, without so much as a peep from him and she was beginning to worry.  Jenkins had been doing this a lot lately, disappearing at least once a week for hours at a time, saying he had research to do.  But yet he rarely had anything afterward to show for all those hours of work.  Something was up with her secretive husband, and the Librarian was determined now to find out what it was.

She searched the Annex, the lab, the Main Reading Room of the Library, the various hallways, the attics, the lower levels—all the places where he could usually be found.  No Jenkins.  It was maddeningly easy to lose someone in the Library, especially if they were on the move; if only Jenkins would carry a cell phone!  But he steadfastly refused, grousing one time that he was not some migrating wildebeest that needed to be fitted with some infernal tracking device.

She was just about to give up when she remembered the Solarium.  It was in the high upper levels of the Library and seldom used, but she didn’t know where else to look.   So she took the elevator to the Third Upper Level and stepped out of the car into another of the Library’s seemingly innumerable dark hallways.  She hurried along the row of doors until she found the one she was looking for. 

Turning the knob, she pushed the door open and went inside the pleasantly warm, brightly-lit room.  It was painted a soothing light shade of blue with honey-colored oak wainscoting, a matching honey-colored hardwood floor at her feet.  Comfy, overstuffed chairs and couches with side or coffee tables and lamps were scattered around the room.  There was an entire wall of windows that allowed sunlight into the whole room and overlooked the entirety of Cathedral Park.  One of the windows was open, letting a soft, cool breeze into the room, the sheer white curtains flanking it fluttering gently.

As Cassandra drew closer to the open window, she was startled by a sudden snorting sound coming from the oversized cream-colored sofa that sat perpendicular to the window, its back facing Cassandra.  The Librarian approached the sofa cautiously, and as she walked she was perplexed to see all kinds of dog toys littering the floor nearby—chew toys, puzzle toys, a length of old rope, a can of tennis balls, pieces of badly mauled stuffed animals, a box of dog treats, some small cakes of tea and a box of chocolate-chip cookies.  When she was closer to the sofa she suddenly noticed a pair of large, argyle-stockinged feet dangling over the armrest of the too-short piece of furniture.  As soon as she was near enough, she peered over the backrest; her hands flew to her mouth to smother the burst of laughter that instantly leaped to her throat.

Sprawled on his back along the length of the sofa was Jenkins, sound asleep, shoes and jacket off, bow tie undone, shirt sleeves rolled up, silver-white hair messily haloed around his pillowed head.  Also sprawled on his back along the length of the Caretaker’s chest and stomach was Franklin, also asleep, the head of one the stuffed animal toys clutched in his tiny paws.  On Jenkins’s forearms and hands Cassandra noticed several small, fresh scratches from his rough-housing with Franklin.  Both man and tea dragon had tiny, contented smiles on their faces as they napped in the gentle spring sunshine.  Occasionally one or the other would issue a little snort as they slept, Franklin sometimes twitching a leg or his tail in his sleep as he dreamed of chasing things through the Library.

Biting her lower lip to keep from giggling, Cassandra quickly slipped her cell phone out of her pocket and took a few pictures of this priceless moment.  She also made a short video of the dozing pair.

“Awww!  A boy and his dragon!” she whispered mawkishly into the phone as she shot the video; she would need this and the pictures as proof of her having been there when she teased Jenkins later about it, not to mention for future blackmail purposes.  She then slid the phone back into her pocket, bent to give her husband a light kiss on his forehead, then turned and crept quietly from the room.


	7. The Sting

“Jenkins!” Jacob Stone shouted as he raced down the hallway towards the Annex workroom. Clutched to his chest was a small, lifeless body.  “ _JENKINS_!”

The Caretaker and the other Librarians heard the frantic shouting.  Alarmed, Jenkins jumped up from his desk and started for the hallway to meet Stone.  The younger man burst through the doorway just as Jenkins reached it.

“Jenkins!” he gasped breathlessly as Cassandra and Ezekiel joined the tall immortal.  “It’s Franklin!”  He lowered the bundle in his arms to reveal the limp, motionless form of the little tea dragon.  Cassandra gasped behind Jenkins in shock.  The old Caretaker’s heart suddenly went cold with dread.

“I came around the corner just in time to see him shimmying underneath the door to the Hive of Giant Bees,” Jake said breathlessly.  “By the time I got into the room to get him out, he’d already been stung.” 

Cassandra gave a soft cry, her hands flying to cover her mouth.  Jenkins remained silent, but his eyes widened with fear.  He quickly took the tea dragon from Jake and dropped to his knees, gently laying the unconscious animal on the wooden flooring.  The Caretaker’s experienced hands quickly examined the tiny body while the three Librarians huddled around him anxiously.

“I don’t think the bee got him very good,” Jake offered hopefully.  “I kicked it off him and pulled out the stinger.  Maybe he didn’t get all that much venom?” 

Jenkins said nothing as he rapidly checked every inch of the dragon.  He found one large lump on Franklin’s back, just behind his right shoulder, the place where he’d been stung.  It was a very large lump; Franklin _had_ been stung badly.  Concentrating on what needed to be done, Jenkins swallowed down a different kind of lump that was forming in his throat and ignored the anxiety and fear filling his belly.  He looked up at Jake.

“Knife?” he asked shortly.  Jake dug into his jeans pockets and found his penknife.  He opened the blade and handed it to Jenkins.

The immortal expertly cut an X through the lump.  Jake noticed that Jenkins’s hand shook slightly as he worked.  He dropped the knife and lifted Franklin’s body from the floor, bending over at the same time.  He placed his mouth over the wound and began to suck the venom from the lump, turning his head every few seconds to spit the yellowish, slimy, foul-smelling stuff onto the floor.  He visibly struggled to control his gag reflex as he worked, the bitter poison instantly making him feel nauseous.  Ezekiel saw how upset Cassandra was becoming, and quietly moved to stand next to her, slipping his arm around her shoulders as they watched helplessly. 

Jake’s eyes were fixed on Jenkins as he fought to save the little tea dragon’s life.  The Caretaker accidentally swallowed a bit of the venom, causing him to retch and cough as he fought to keep himself from vomiting.  Jake dropped to his knees next to Jenkins and gently took Franklin from the gasping man.

“Here, J, let me spell ya,” he said, then continued to try to draw the poison out himself.  He’d done this sort of thing a couple of times before with snake bites, how different could it be?  He soon found out how different it was when he nearly puked his breakfast up the second the venom touched his tongue.  It was at least a hundred times worse than rattlesnake venom, but he powered through it.  Jenkins had already drawn out most of the venom, though, and after a couple of minutes Jake was spitting nothing but blood onto the floor.  Jenkins stopped him and took Franklin back.

“That’s enough, I think, Mr. Stone, thank you.  I need to get him to the infirmary now,” he said, his voice tight.  As he climbed to his feet, he turned briefly to Cassandra.

“Cassandra, please go to the lab and find my medicine bag, bring it to the infirmary,” he instructed.  “Mr. Jones, please help her, I need it as quickly as possible!”  The two young Librarians nodded and ran for the lab.

“Mr. Stone, if you would be so kind...?” he asked the historian as he passed him on his way to the infirmary.  Jake fell in behind the tall man as he rushed down the hallway.

Ezekiel and Cassandra quickly located the bag Jenkins needed and rushed to bring it to him in the infirmary.  The bag contained a myriad of bottles, boxes, bundles and packages, all containing various potions, balms, roots or herbs. 

“Cassandra, some water, please,” he said as he dug frantically through the bag.  He pulled out a battered, unlabeled wooden box and a large bottle of what looked like raw honey.

“Mr. Jones, some gauze, please.”  Ezekiel shot off to find the bandaging.  Jacob simply watched as Jenkins quickly cleaned and disinfected the wound.  In a small metal bowl he mixed a white powder from the wooden box with the honey, thinning the mixture with just enough water to make it easy to spread.  Jake realized that the Caretaker was making a poultice, not too dissimilar to ones his grandmother used to make when he’d been stung as a boy by a bee or a wasp.

“Baking powder and raw honey poultice,” he muttered, mostly to himself, but Jenkins heard him and glanced up at him, a look of approval flashing through the distress in his brown eyes.

“Very good, Mr. Stone,” he said, turning back to his work.  “I can see you’ve experience with this sort of thing.”  Jenkins took a gauze pad from Jones and spread the paste in a thick layer over one side of the cloth, then carefully laid it over the wound on Franklin’s back, gently pressing the poultice to make sure it made full contact with the affected area.  Jake noted that the older man’s hands were still trembling slightly.

“Yeah, I’ve had my share of bee stings,” Jake answered.  “Grandma Stone always used to make something just like this for me.  Surprised you’re not usin’ somethin’ magical, though.  Potion, magic wand, artifact of some kind.”  Jenkins stood up straight with a heavy sigh and wiped his hands with an extra piece of gauze.

“Franklin is a magical animal,” he said.  “It can be risky using magical cures on magical animals, sometimes fatal.  I’m not sure why, perhaps it’s a case of too much magic for an animal’s system to handle, an overload, if you will.  I prefer to start with a non-magical treatment and work my way up to magic as a last resort.  Or in this case, a semi-magical treatment.”  He threw the cloth onto a table and began to repack the medicine bag.

“The honey is from the hive of the giant bees.  All types of honey, of course, is a natural disinfectant, but this particular honey also has remarkable healing properties, especially where poisoned bites and stings are concerned.”  He handed the bag to Cassandra, then carefully picked up Franklin from the table.

“I hope we’ve gotten to him in time and that a fully-magical treatment won’t be necessary.  If you would be so kind, Mr. Stone, as to open the door for us?” he asked.  “I’m going to take Franklin to our quarters, where he can rest quietly and undisturbed.”  Jake hurried over and held the heavy door open for the Caretaker and his wife. 

As Jenkins and Cassandra turned and disappeared from view, Jake stared after them, his fist lightly thumping against the doorframe.  He had seen the look in Jenkins’s eyes as he passed Jake; despite his calm demeanor, the Caretaker was afraid.  Stone looked over at Ezekiel, who was busy cleaning up after Jenkins. 

“Come on, Jones,” he called to the Aussie as he was finishing up.  “We’re gonna go make sure nothin’ like this ever happens again.”

* * *

Jenkins set up a small space in his sitting room for Franklin, and spent the next forty-eight hours in a constant, sleepless vigil at the sick tea dragon’s side.  He applied fresh poultices every couple of hours and patiently slipped the unconscious little creature a few drops of various potions and concoctions.  The Caretaker refused to leave Franklin’s side except to quickly fetch a new medicine.  As the long hours passed, he eventually began using stronger medicines, then magical cures.  All other duties went unattended.  He refused to eat, he refused even tea.  Jenkins loved Franklin more than he would ever admit, but Cassandra could tell that Jenkins was worried— _very_ worried.  There were a couple of times, when Jenkins thought she wasn’t looking, that the Librarian had actually seen silent tears fall from his eyes as he tended his patient.  The possibility of losing Franklin upset her greatly, too; she could only imagine how much it was hurting her husband, despite his stoic exterior. 

Cassandra sat with Jenkins and stayed awake as long as she could to help and comfort him as much as possible, but eventually, being mortal, she succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep.

* * *

She blinked slowly awake after a few hours of fitful sleep to find herself tucked into bed.  Jenkins must have put her there.  She could hear the sound of the Caretaker’s low, rumbling voice coming from his sitting room; Cassandra slipped out of bed and quietly tip-toed over to the door to peek through the crack.

“I’m so very sorry, Franklin,” he was saying, gently stroking the sick dragon’s side.  “This is all my fault, isn’t it?  I should’ve blocked that crack beneath the door so you couldn’t get inside.  Besides Cassandra, you’re the best thing that’s happened to me in my entire, misbegotten life, and look at how I’ve neglected you!  Please, don’t die, little one, I’m so sorry…”  He voice cracked and Cassandra saw him wipe tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. 

She quickly turned away from the door and hurried back to bed, burying her face in her pillow so that she could cry without Jenkins hearing her.

* * *

Two days later, late in the afternoon, the Librarians and their Guardian, including Cassandra, were gathered in the workroom, trying to distract themselves with work.  The younger ones had informed Eve Baird and Flynn Carsen as soon as they returned from the mission they had been on when the accident occurred, and both were heartbroken.  The pair had gone to try and cheer Jenkins, but when they saw his tired, careworn face, saw that he was still wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing the day they left on their mission days earlier, and saw the small, uncharacteristically lifeless body of Franklin, they simply had no words.  Eve managed to give Jenkins a tight hug, barely able to keep herself from bursting into tears. 

Now they were all quiet and somber; Jenkins was still shut up with Franklin, and though none would dare to say so out loud, they were all thinking the same thing, that they were all now on a death watch, that Franklin wasn’t going to make it. 

The group huddled around a parchment map of ancient Timbuktu and quietly discussing it as a possible location for a new artifact that had appeared in the clippings book, but none of them was really interested in artifacts right now. 

All of them jumped as if they’d been shot at the sound of an exhausted-looking, thoroughly disheveled Jenkins as he burst into the room, bellowing like bull.

“ _CASSANDRA_!  CASSANDRA, _LOOK_!”  Her husband’s face was wet with tears; Cassandra jumped up from her chair and rushed to his side, her heart pounding.  Jenkins was tenderly clutching the little green dragon to his chest.

_This is it_ , she thought, feeling ill _.  Franklin’s dead_.

As she fought back tears, Jenkins carefully lowered his arms so that she could see Franklin’s body.  He lay in the immortal’s hands limply, unmoving.  The others gathered behind her; Eve and Flynn were already sniffling.  Cassandra slowly reached out to touch the little body.  _Poor Franklin!_

The moment her fingers touched his dull, iridescent skin, Franklin’s large black eyes popped open.  Cassandra screamed and flinched, reflexively snatching her hand back.  The people clustered behind her all screamed and flinched as well.  The tip of the little dragon’s tail twitched weakly as he greeted them with a thin, happy whine, stretching a tiny paw out toward them.

“Oh!  Jenkins!” Cassandra gasped, looking up hopefully into the tall man’s weary eyes.  They were glowing with happiness, a huge, boyish grin across his face.  “Is he…is he going to be all right?”

“He’s going to be just fine!” he said, his voice rough with emotion.  “He woke up only a few minutes ago.”  At the sound of the immortal’s voice, Franklin weakly turned his head to look up at him, his tail twitching a little more strongly now.  He began to purr softly and lick Jenkin’s hand.

“He’s going to be fine,” he said again, quietly this time, as Cassandra came to slip her arms around him, tears of joy spilling down her cheeks.

* * *

Jenkins found Jacob sitting by the Fountain of Youth, a freshly-opened bottle of beer in his hand.  The Caretaker approached the historian and stood before the younger man, an air of formality surrounding the immortal.

“Here you are, Mr. Stone,” he greeted.  “I’ve been looking for you everywhere today.  I have something that I would like to discuss with you.”

“Yeah?  What’s that?” Jake asked, taking a swig of his beer.  He held up the bottle.  “Want one?”

Jenkins shook his head.  “No, thank you.  Not my cup of tea anymore,” he said, causing Jacob to smirk in amusement.

“So how’s Franklin doin’?  Cassie says he’s up and running around your rooms like crazy now.”  The immortal nodded, smiling.

“Yes, yes, he’s well on his way to making a full recovery, I’m happy to say,” he responded.  “That’s why I’m here right now, in fact.”

“So what can I do you for, J?” he asked.  To his surprise, Jenkins’s face brightened.

“I wish to thank you for all of your help in saving Franklin’s life,” he said crisply.  “If you hadn’t gone in after him and pulled him out of the hive, if you hadn’t rushed him to the workroom as quickly as you did, if you hadn’t helped to draw out the poison…”  Jacob waved the beer bottle at the tall man in dismissal.

“It was nothin’,” he said.  “Just happened to be in the right place at the right time, that’s all.”

“No,” countered Jenkins.  “It was not ‘nothin’; you saved his life, Mr. Stone.  And, I understand from Mr. Jones that the two of you went around and blocked up the cracks to _all_ of the rooms that might be hazardous to curious tea dragons while I was busy with Franklin.  That was not ‘nothin’.”  A look of shyness came over Jenkins’s face. 

“Franklin means…a great deal to me, almost as much as Cassandra.  I am indebted to you.”  He raised his white head, a tiny smile coming to his lips.

“And I would like to express my gratitude in a particular way, Mr. Stone, that I think will very much appeal to the historian in you, if you’ll allow me,” he said.  Stone lifted his head and looked at Jenkins, intrigued.

“How so?” he asked.

“I’d rather it be a surprise; if you’ll accompany me…?”  Jenkins turned and held out a long arm in invitation.  Jacob scrambled to his feet, leaving his beer on the edge of the Fountain, and followed the old Caretaker back to his suite.

* * *

Jenkins led him to his sitting room, and Jacob’s eyes immediately fell on a very large, ancient trunk sitting in the middle of the room.  The trunk was made of oak, blackened with age and banded with hand-forged iron.  Jacob estimated that it was well over a thousand years old, and his curiosity was ratcheted up considerably.  He looked over at Jenkins expectantly.

“What is this, J?”

Jenkins silently fished a large iron key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock.  He lifted the creaking lid, and Jake eagerly stepped forward to see what was inside.  There were several bundles, all wrapped in cloths that were also hundreds of years old.  The anticipation was killing the historian.  Jenkins rarely spoke of his past to anyone but Cassandra, but Jake suspected that was about to change.  He was bursting with questions, but he held his tongue lest Jenkins became annoyed and changed his mind.

Jenkins removed two very long, flat bundles from the trunk and laid them on a table he had cleared off earlier.  He removed the cloth wrappings to reveal two oaken cases.  With a proud glance at Stone, the Caretaker removed the lids and stood back to allow the younger man an unobstructed view of the contents.

As Jacob peered into the boxes, his eyes widened and his jaw dropped:  In the longer of the two boxes lay a Celtic longsword and its plain scabbard, two thousand years old if it was a day, yet looking as though it had been made yesterday.  It had a simple hilt and grip made of solid gold and carnelian of a deep reddish-orange color, the long, narrow blade shaped like the leaf of a willow tree.

The other box was a shorter sword and its scabbard, the plain blade a little over two feet in length, and far simpler in design, like a long thin triangle.  Stone could tell that it was easily thousands of years older than the longsword and of ancient Middle Eastern origin, but it had been refurbished at some point in its history.  Unlike the longer sword, this one and its scabbard were richly decorated.  Its hilt and grip were made of ivory and gold, studded with precious gems.  Accompanying this sword its scabbard was a long, thin belt made of some strange material that Jake couldn’t identify at first.  When he looked closer, he realized that it was made of intricately-woven human hair, deep chestnut in color and decorated with gold and precious stones as well.

Jacob stared at the magnificent treasures, barely remembering to breathe.  He looked up into Jenkins’s expressionless face.

“These are your swords,” Jake murmured, almost reverently.  “The ones described in Malory.”  He pointed at the longer weapon.

“The Sword of the Red Hilt, the one Arthur had you pull from a block of marble that was floating in a river, just after you won the Siege Perilous.”  He then pointed to the shorter sword.

“And the Sword of Strange Hangings—the retooled sword of King David that you were given by Percival’s sister in Solomon’s Ship just before she died.  That belt is woven from her hair.”  He looked back at Jenkins.

“I can’t believe you still have them,” he breathed, awestruck.  “I can’t believe you’re letting me even see them...”

“There’s one more,” Jenkins rumbled, going to the trunk and removing another bundle, this one a huge, flat square.  He quickly removed the cloth covering the wooden box, this one made of walnut.  Jenkins removed the lid to reveal a large, round wooden shield approximately three feet in diameter, banded by iron.  The shield was painted a solid, blinding white.  In the middle was a simple cross of deep red that looked as though it had been painted on with someone’s fingers.  Jacob slowly looked up in disbelief at Jenkins, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Your shield,” he whispered.  “The shield given to you by Joseph of Arimathea—He painted that cross on there with his own hand, with blood from the Grail itself…”  Jenkins merely nodded silently, his face unreadable.

“It’s all true, then?  All the stories about Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table?” Stone asked. 

“No, not _all_ ,” the old knight answered.  “But that is also part of your reward.  Choose a time, and I will sit down with you and answer any and all questions you may have regarding Arthur and Camelot.  No restrictions.”  Stone gaped at him in astonishment.

“Wait...You mean...you’ll answer _any_ question I ask you, flat out, in plain language?  No hints or riddles or double-talk—you’ll just _answer_ any question I ask about Camelot or Arthur or Merlin or...yourself?”

“Any and all, Mr. Stone,” Jenkins confirmed.  “I know how curious you have been about that topic ever since you learned my true identity.  I’ve been reluctant to speak about those days because...well…it was a painful time in my life.  It wasn’t all tournaments and roses, after all.  I lost so much, lost so many loved ones...”  He shook his head sadly as his memory raced to those days, but he then forced himself back to the present.

“It was easier to simply push it all from my mind and try to bury it in the past.  But, thanks to Cassandra, I’ve learned recently that it’s better to speak of painful things, rather than to bury them; to get them out into the light where they can heal, rather than let them fester in the darkness.”  Jenkins reached into the box and removed the Sword of the Red Hilt.  He stepped back and performed several graceful practice swings, the fine, razor-sharp blade whispering softly through the air like the voice of a lover.  Jacob felt like he was dreaming.

The knight stopped and walked over to the enthralled young man, and with a smooth, practiced movement laid the sword over the crook of his left arm, the hilt pointing toward Jacob.

“Perhaps you would like to try it?” he invited.  Stone’s eyes bugged out of his head as he realized what Jenkins was offering.

“I...you mean I can...hold it?” he asked, almost timidly.  “ _Really_?”  The tall man gave a slight bow.

“Of course,” he said, amused by the historian’s reaction.  Jacob carefully took hold of the legendary sword and held it out from his body as if he was holding an angry cobra.  As he admired the weapon and gingerly tested its weight in his hand, Jenkins removed the other sword from its case.  He faced Jake and held his weapon up in a salute.

“ _En garde_ , Mr. Stone,” he challenged soberly.

“ _What?!_ ” Jacob squawked, his tousled head whipping around to stare at the tall man.

“I’m going to give you a very simple lesson in beginning swordsmanship,” announced the knight.  “Though I must be honest and tell you that I’m somewhat rusty in using these particular weapons.  It’s the first time I’ve touched them in centuries, actually.”  He turned his body and took a fighter’s stance, swordarm up.

“Raise your sword, Mr. Stone, and when I strike, try to block my attack with your blade.”  A huge grin suddenly split Jacob’s face, and he quickly positioned himself in front of the knight.  He was actually going to sword fight!  With Sir- _freakin’_ -Galahad himself!  With two of the most legendary swords in all of history!  The others were _never_ gonna believe this! 

As he stood there daydreaming, Jenkins suddenly lunged forward and brought his sword’s blade down.  Instinctively, Jacob raised his sword high over his head and forward, yelping and flinching as the old knight’s blade slammed hard against his own, nearly knocking the sword from his hand.

“Hmmm.”  Jenkins knit his brows together as he lowered his sword and assessed Jacob’s performance.

“An absolutely abysmal effort, Mr. Stone,” he said sourly, but Jacob noticed that the immortal’s eyes were twinkling.  “You need to tighten your grip on the hilt.  And you need to keep your eyes _open_ , otherwise you might as well simply use the sword on yourself, save your enemy the work of having to run you through himself.”  He stepped back and raised his sword again.

“Shall we try it again, then?” he asked.  Jacob jerked his sword back into position, his eyes glowing with pride, his grin so wide it was beginning to hurt.

“Bring it on, J!” he crowed, the happiest he’d felt in very long time.


	8. The Nature of the Beast

The Librarian and the Caretaker stood anxiously in the contestants’ area, waiting for their name to be called.  It was the first time either of them had been to the Pan-American Magical Animal Games, being held this year in Belmopan, Belize, and the air was electric with excitement.  Cassandra could barely contain herself, seeming to bounce non-stop slightly on her toes for the last several days of the obstacle course competition.  She tightened her grip on Franklin’s harness leash in her right hand as she held the wriggling dragon against her chest with her left arm. 

The Pam-American Magical Animal Games was a very prestigious event; winners at the PAMAGs often went on to win gold medals in the Magical Creatures portion of the Magical Olympics held several weeks later.  It was Cassandra who had first suggested to Jenkins that he enter Franklin in obstacle course competitions, local ones only, at first.  She thought it would be good for the naturally reclusive Caretaker to get out and socialize a bit with the world at large rather than keep himself insulated within their close-knit Library family, not to mention that it would be a good way to bleed off some of the seemingly never-ending energy of the tea dragon himself. 

Jenkins was reluctant at first, but he finally gave in to Cassandra’s repeated prodding, if only to make her happy.  He and Franklin entered their first obstacle course competition several months ago, and, much to Jenkins’s surprise and gratification, Franklin actually won his class.  Jenkins was also rather pleasantly surprised to find that he himself enjoyed the social aspect of the competitions as well; they were a surprisingly large and diverse group of people.  He very much enjoyed showing Franklin off to others, proudly talking about him and sharing stories with other magical animal handlers.  It wasn’t long before he and the little dragon were regulars on the obstacle course circuit, competing nearly every weekend.  Soon, the walls behind Jenkins’s desk was proudly covered with ribbons and medals.

After gaining some experience in the local competitions, the immortal began entering larger ones.  They started off in Portland, winning awards there before moving on to the state levels, then the Pacific Northwest Regionals, then to the US Nationals, then on to the North American Semi-Finals, until at last the little tea dragon had made it all the way to the PAMAGs.  The whole time Jenkins worked intensely with the intelligent animal.  Franklin was eager to learn, and the Caretaker enjoyed teaching him to run through obstacle courses of all types of configurations, some of which were positively diabolical in their layout.  Franklin quickly mastered them all, screaming with delight all along the course as he conquered every obstacle in his path.  Each day, Jenkins spent at least two or three hours working with the tea dragon in preparation for the PAMAG competition, building his strength and stamina, sharpening his reflexes with new and ever-increasingly complicated and difficult obstacles.  It was tiring work, but both man and dragon enjoyed every minute of it.

Now the big day had come at last.  When Jenkins got his first look at the course for the final heat for their class—Small Dragon/Non-Fire-Breathing/100-500 Years Old—he was positively elated.  Compared to some of the courses he had created for Franklin, this one was childishly simple.  He had every confidence that Franklin could not only beat the obstacle course, but that he could do so in record time, thus securing them a spot on the American Olympic Team.  When he reported his assessments to Cassandra, she squealed with excited delight and clapped her hands.

This course had the usual runs, jumps, tunnels, climbs, balance challenges and even a good-sized pool of water that had to be jumped.  But it also had a more insidious obstacle:  Placed around various points along the length of the course were small dishes of food, tailored to each individual competitor’s likes, and meant to test the competitor’s ability to focus and ignore distractions.  Jenkins had, of course, taught Franklin how to run such a course, so he wasn’t concerned.  He’d successfully taught Franklin to ignore _all_ manner of distractions—no mean feat where naturally curious tea dragons were concerned.

At last their name was called.  Cassandra, flushed with excitement, walked with Jenkins to the starting line, still carrying Franklin.  Before she set him on the ground, Jenkins gave her a quick kiss for luck, then gave Franklin an affectionate scratching behind one ear.

“Wish me luck my dear; and good luck to you, my clever little fellow!” he said, his brown eyes glittering with his own excitement.  Cassandra happily gave her husband a peck on the cheek.

“Good luck, sweetheart!” she chirped, then set Franklin the ground and unhooked the leash.  She held him in place as Jenkins strode quickly to the finish line.  As Franklin’s handler, he was allowed to call instructions and encouragement from there, but if he dared step onto the course itself, Franklin would be automatically disqualified.  As Jenkins assumed his position at the far end of the course, the crowds in the stands fell silent.  In the very front row of the venue where the obstacle course events were being held, three Librarians and their Guardian sat on the edges of their seats, ready to cheer on the Library’s first entry to the PAMAGs in over three hundred years.

Franklin was well-trained and understood what was expected of him, and he was anxious to go.  To him, it was a wonderful game he played with Bái Shān, at the end of which was lots of belly scratches, praise and treats.  He spotted Bái Shān at the far end of the course, and Franklin was excited at the prospect of doing something that he knew pleased the patriarch of his new family.  He saw workers setting out dishes of something along the route of the course, and soon his keen nose picked up the scent of several of his favorite treats—cakes made of Japanese matcha, blueberries, lemon-poppyseed muffins, dried pu-er tea leaves. 

Cassandra held the whimpering, wound-up dragon steady on the starting line.  Franklin’s hindquarters wriggled in anticipation, his large black eyes wide and taking in everything around him.  Bái Shān stood tall and calm, waiting.

The starting gun fired, and the dragon shot out of Cassandra’s hands like an iridescent-green rocket.  At the same moment the spectators in the stands were on their feet, screaming and cheering, none more loudly or enthusiastically than the other Librarians and Eve Baird. 

As he approached the first obstacle—a hurdle three feet in height—Franklin did the unthinkable.  Instead of jumping the hurdle, he raced straight to the small dish placed a few feet from the end of it.  The dish contained a small matcha cake, a rare treat that he simply could not resist, and Franklin snatched it off of the plate as he shot by, gobbling it down at a full run.

He raced towards the next obstacle, a long, narrow tube barely wider in diameter than Franklin himself.  But he again bypassed the obstacle, rushing instead to the dish next to it containing a small, fat lemon-poppyseed muffin.  It was too large and unwieldy to eat on the run, so Franklin stopped dead and seized the muffin, tearing off large ragged chunks and bolting them down as fast as he could before moving on to the next obstacle.

At the starting line, Cassandra now stood frozen to the ground, her mouth hanging open in stunned horror.  The spectators in the stand also fell relatively quiet, shocked to see such a massive failure in a competitor at this level.  A few spectators went from speechless disbelief to open ridicule, jeering and heckling the speeding dragon.  More experienced observers, however, felt dread blanket the arena.  Such things _had_ happened before at these high levels of competition, and sometimes they ended _very_ badly.

Franklin continued through the entire course in the same manner, tearing up the ground between the food dishes, completely ignoring the obstacles.  The lowest point came when he jumped _into_ the pool of water, rather than over it, and spent several minutes drinking and splashing about playfully, shrieking with joyful abandon all the while.  Since the rules stated that no one could enter the obstacle course under any circumstances while a competitor was active on it, there was nothing anyone could do except wait for Franklin to decide when he would cross the finish line.  The people in the stands were mortified.  Flynn, Eve, Jake and Ezekiel were screaming encouragement at the errant tea dragon, desperately trying to get him back on track and salvage something, _anything_ , of the competition.  Cassandra was also frantically calling to Franklin, tearfully begging him to stop eating and go to Jenkins.  The immortal, for his part, merely stood at the finish line, still as a pillar of granite, his face completely devoid of expression as he watched the disaster unfold in front of him. 

Franklin finally cleaned the last plate at the 17 minutes, thirty-two seconds mark—the longest obstacle course time ever in PAMAG history.  His belly full now, he licked his chops contentedly and at last turned toward Jenkins, loping leisurely in his direction.  As he drew closer to the tall immortal, however, Franklin sensed something was very wrong.  Bái Shān wasn’t smiling and clapping as he usually did.  And then it struck the animal—he had completely forgotten all about the obstacles!  He had failed to play their game properly, and now Bái Shān was disappointed in him—and doubtless _very_ angry, too.  The little dragon’s mood plummeted, and, his body drooping low to the ground, he slowly slunk the last couple of feet, finally crossing the finish line and stopping directly in front of the man he loved most in all the world.

Everyone in the ring watched now with baited breath to see what the Caretaker would do next.  Jenkins was a fearsome-looking man even in the best of circumstances, but right now, with his stony face, tightly compressed lips and dark, narrowed eyes, he looked positively frightening.  He already had something of reputation in magical circles for having a sharp temper when angered.  Some were afraid that he would take that anger out now on the poor beast that had humiliated him so badly at such a high-stakes competition.  It _had_ happened before, after all, to other competitors.  Everyone _still_ talked about Sir Ashton Tipping-Smythe, who beat his poor griffin to death right in the middle of a race with a stone he had snatched up from the course, infuriated with the animal’s terrible performance at the Zagreb Olympics of 1680.

Jenkins stood stock still, his eyes closed for several seconds.  Cassandra, of course, had heard about the Zagreb Olympics, and she ran along the side of the course, coming to a stop a few feet off, her blue eyes worried for both husband and dragon.  Jenkins had had such high hopes for Franklin today, he had been _so_ sure that they would be moving on to the Olympics.  Jenkins had to be bitterly disappointed right now, but _surely_ he wouldn’t actually harm Franklin…?

“Jenkins?” she asked.  “Are you all right?  Please don’t be too angry with Franklin—remember, he’s still young and immature...”  The Librarian prepared herself to snatch Franklin up and run to safety if her husband showed the least sign of wanting to hurt the tea dragon.

The immortal squeezed his eyes tight, pressed his lips together even more firmly and dropped his head.  Cassandra began to inch anxiously closer to the cringing Franklin.

Jenkins’s shoulders began to shake furiously; Cassandra froze, wide-eyed with fear.  The crowds in the stands began to whisper nervously among themselves.  PAMAG security personnel positioned themselves within easy striking distance, magical stunning gauntlets at the ready to take the huge Caretaker down should he try to attack the underperforming dragon.  They were determined that there would be no repeat of Zagreb, not _this_ year.

Suddenly Jenkins threw his head back as laughter exploded from him—loud, genuine, from the belly laughter.  Startled by the unexpected noise, Franklin yelped and shrank back a few steps in fear, his eyes bulging even more than normal.  Cassandra—and everyone else in attendance that day—were just as surprised and could do nothing for several seconds except to stare in amazement.  Jenkins, still laughing so hard that he was gasping for air, looked down at the frightened reptile, and a huge smile lit up his face.

“Come, Franklin!” he called jovially, slapping his hand on his chest, the signal he used for the animal to jump up onto him.  Franklin recognized the big man’s sparking eyes and the way he bared his teeth as the signs that Bái Shān was pleased, not angry; in fact, Bái Shān’s face now showed the same pride and happiness that it always displayed whenever Franklin had done a good job of playing their game.  Bái Shān wasn’t angry at all; he wasn’t even sad or disappointed with Franklin!

Thrilled at not being in any trouble with his adopted father, the tea dragon instantly perked up.  He began to leap up and down excitedly into the air, his long tail slashing back and forth as he squealed with his own happiness.  He crouched on his haunches and took careful aim, then launched himself up into the Caretaker’s outstretched arms, wriggling wildly and licking the human’s face as fast as his tongue could move.  Jenkins laughed again, struggling to hold onto the squirming beast with one large hand while he stroked and patted the tiny body with the other.

“ _There’s_ my clever little fellow!” Cassandra heard Jenkins rumble affectionately as she hurried to his side.  All around them people were now cheering and clapping, relieved at the non-violent outcome and at the good nature of the distracted dragon’s handler; a few were even dabbing their eyes.

“Oh, Jenkins, I’m sorry!” she exclaimed.  “I know how much you wanted to win here—are you okay?”  Her husband, his eyes moist with tears from laughing so hard, beamed down at her as Franklin managed to slip from his grasp and wind himself around the Caretaker’s neck, trilling and yipping ecstatically.  Jenkins absently stroked the creature’s head and neck.  By now, the others had made their way from the stands and were joining the pair at the finish line.

“I’m perfectly fine, my dear,” he assured her.  “Why do you ask?”  She gave him a look of disbelief.

“Franklin just totally blew any chance for getting into the Olympics next month?” she offered.  “In fact, he’s not even going to place _here_ now, thanks to that lousy time!”  Jenkins snorted in derision.

“They’re only games, Cassandra,” he commented dismissively.  “They’re not a matter of life or death, at least not for me.”  He waved one long arm at their surroundings.

“This is a hobby—a _pleasant_ hobby, I hasten to add—for both Franklin and myself.  It would no longer be pleasant if I began expecting perfection from Franklin every single time he took to a course, or made him feel as if he had done something unforgivable if he lost a race.  Or, as in this case, given in to his nature rather than what _I_ wanted him to do.  While Franklin _is_ a very intelligent animal, he is _still_ an animal, after all, and all animals have a will of their own.  There was no harm done today, therefore there is nothing for me to be upset about.”  Jenkins turned his head to look at Franklin, and was rewarded with a wet, sloppy “dragon kiss” right on his lips.

“Besides,” he half-spluttered, half-laughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  “You have to admit that it _was_ absolutely hilarious to watch!”  He looked around at the astonished faces surrounding him.

“Now, I don’t know about the rest of you, but after the excitement of these last several days, I am in dire need of a very large, very strong cup of tea; would anyone care to join me?”

And with that, the tall man turned to head to the location of the back door to the Annex, still chuckling as he lovingly scratching the squeaking tea dragon underneath his chin and praising him as he dug a few lumps of sugar from his coat pocket and fed them to his fine little fellow

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! In the interest of full disclosure, this fic was inspired by this video, starting at around the :50 second mark, the one with the golden retriever. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5iTTNRE-njM

**Author's Note:**

> After writing "Mental Health Day" I couldn't stop thinking about Franklin and what he would make of a place like the Library and the people in it, especially first-time 'pet parent', Jenkins. This started off as a single one-off, but it quickly became so long and detailed that I decided to turn it into a serial, instead, to be updated periodically. Chapters will not necessarily be related to one another, so each can be read on its own. I hope you enjoy the fic and, as always, thanks for reading!


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